Chosen
by Wingedmidnight88
Summary: "No, don't say anything. I'll get to the point. It's time to collect." Creepy oneshot involving an unnamed OC and Crowley.


**Supernatural Fiction**

The young woman bolted up from her bed, drenched in sweat. _'What a livid dream. . .'_ She thought to herself and remembered endless fire, rivers of blood and lava. She was gripped with a pain so intense and encompassing of her body, it felt like all the nerve endings in her skin were on fire. She had screamed until her throat was raw and tears streamed down her face. She'd seen this scene before again and again all throughout her life. Nothing seemed to have brought on these nightmares, but somehow they seemed so... _familiar_. She rubbed her eyes and swung her legs over the edge of the bed and suddenly felt very dizzy. She blinked and tried to get her bearings and reorient herself to take in the dingy familiarity of her dark apartment bedroom. When she opened her eyes and moved to stand, she started when she saw blinding white. Now panicking, her eyes darted to try and find something to focus on something, _anything_ in the whiteness.  
Her eyes slowly adjusted and she could make out corners in the room she found herself in. She was seated on the edge of a pool, her fingers gripping the edge behind her, dipping them in the cool liquid. She saw something black out of her peripheral vision looked over shoulder and saw a giant window overlooking a strange and dark city with towering spires and luminescent lights.

"Marvelous, isn't it?"

Her head snapped to the direction of the low male voice with a light British accent. She swallowed when her eyes fell on the smartly dressed man in a black suit. He was watching her with an insincere smile. She didn't move when he slowly walked to stand near her and look down at her.

He tilted his head coyly at her, "Don't you remember? You've been here before.. With _me_."

She didn't say anything, couldn't, rather. Her throat felt like it was lined with cotton. She gulped loudly before she was able to croak out, "...Crowley."

The only response she got was a conceited smile.

He was right though, she had been here _and_ seen him before. She leaned back when he leaned in near her face by her ear, "No, don't say anything. I'll get to the point. It's time to collect."

"...Collect?" She finally managed to get out when he leaned away.

His smile broadened, "Yes Dear, fifteen years ago today your father made a deal with me. But he's in a 'better' place now, isn't he?

"Wha- My father?"

"Full of questions, aren't we? Yes, Darling. That raping bastard deal with me. Your soul in exchange for his. Who knew it was his to give?" He said with an amused shrug.

"...What?" She knew her father was a despicable man who was into some 'shady' business but she never thought he would go this far.

"It's not as though it did any good though, you can't get into heaven if you're a pedophile."

Her chest tightened with fear and she gritted her teeth at the thought and watched the King of Hell pace around her.

He stopped and eyed her thoughtfully, "Unless..."

She swallowed and knew that the glint in his eye could only end badly for her.

"Your 'talents' could prove useful. Azazel was very generous with his gift." He gave her a look of amusement as he watched her face contort into shock as she saw his surface thoughts.

A flash of yellow eyes and a hungry grin on the face of a man she had seen before. The screams of her mother echoed in her mind as she was burned alive, pinned to the ceiling of her childhood bedroom.

"Good, you remember. All your life you could hear what everyone's brains had to say about you. Nice that being able to move things with your mind came with the deal, hm?"

The woman slowly and shakily got to her feet, the satin fabric of her white nightgown cooling her sweating skin slightly. Her fingers twitched in anticipation, her telekinetic mind read to snap out at him in an instant.

This was not unnoticed by him as he eyed her up and down, "Don't try anything, I'll have you vivisected like a frog on a table, _slowly_." He warned as he continued to pace around her lazily.

She slowly lowered her hands but her mind was still as tense as ever.

He gave an over-dramatic sigh, "I suppose old Yellow Eyes' gift didn't help you against dear Daddy, did it?"

It was as though she was physically struck and her jaw sagged in shock. She refused to go back to that place in her memories, the shame it left her with every time he left her room.

He looked at her, obviously pleased with her reaction, "Oh yes, how could I not know? Don't worry, he's having a grand time at my place. I supposed even demons don't like child molesters." He stopped in front of her with his hands clasped behind his back as he rocked smugly on the heels of his shiny dress shoes.

There was a period of silence and she could feel his stare boring into her skull as she looked down at the floor. "What do you want from me?" She finally asked quietly through her hair as she hung her head.

"Oh, she speaks! I have a bit of a deal for you. Well, not a deal, really. More of a alternative. Your psychic 'mojo' will be very useful, not to mention unique."

She looked up at him from behind her curtain of hair and gasped when he suddenly took hold of her chin and tilted her face up to look at him with one hand, the other brushing her dark hair from her face. "Remember, Love, you can't hide here."

She resisted the urge to glare at him as he smiled at her again, amused at her rage.

The touch left a burning sensation as he released her and strode over to a bright red lounge chair. He placed his hands on the head of the chair and looked at her expectantly. Everything in her mind screamed at not to go over, not to go near him but to run far away. This was _his_ domain though, He could have her teleported back to him or even tortured, again.

He drummed his fingers impatiently on the velvet fabric, "Come now, I would rather do this the 'clean' way, I just had this suit pressed."

Her eyes moved from somewhere on the floor near his feet back up to see him suddenly wearing latex gloves and a white butcher apron, holding a thin knife with a serrated edge. She started at the sight and looked at him with wide, terrified eyes.

He looked like he stifled a chuckle, "Don't look at me that way, it doesn't hurt as much as you think, not nearly as much as what I would do if you say no. Just a scratch, really."

A chill went down her spine as she tried her hardest not to hear his surface thoughts. The small gasp that came from her made it clear she hadn't succeeded as she caught a glimpse of a blood red symbol that looked like a curved and distorted crucifix carved into the flesh of her back between her shoulder blades. She wondered in the back of her mind why he would do anything manually when he could sear the symbol on her back with a snap of his fingers and be done with it. But... That would be too _easy_ and certainly not any fun for him.

The worst part was knowing that there wasn't any way to escape. Despite the protests from her mind, she slowly walked over to where he stood. He gave a raise of his eyebrows and nodded slightly down at the chair. She sat on the chair and he held out a hand expectantly.

She ever so slowly complied and shakily put her hands in his. His hand clamped down on both of hers and yanked her forward. She squeezed her eyes shut as she was slid across cold metal. She opened her eyes to find herself laying on an antique operating table. There was a _click_ and her wrists were in handcuffs connected to each corner. She whipped her head up to see him caressing the blade with his fingers almost lovingly. He hummed and slipped the straps of her nightgown over her shoulders to reveal her back. Why did this seem so familiar? She involuntarily shuddered when he ran a hand over her bare shoulder blades, his touch hot on her clammy skin.

All she could see was the front of the white apron as he leaned over her. He smelled like sulphur and whiskey. She hissed in pain as he slowly made the first cut in her skin, "Don't you have better things to do then play with me?"

"Sweetheart, I'm the King of Hell and I've got all day to play with with my favorite pet. Don't you enjoy our 'together time'?"

Sweat beaded on her face as she shut her eyes at tightly as possible.

She bolted up again from her dream within a dream and her world lurched as vertigo gripped her, nearly sending her toppling off her bed. She held her head in her hands and willed the spinning to stop. She felt something trickling down between her shoulder blades and she slapped her hand against her back, awkwardly attempting to feel the affected area. She almost shot out of bed to get to her tiny bathroom in her bedroom, nearly tripping and breaking her neck over a pair of boots. She whirled around and craned her neck to try and see her back in the mirror and there it was, faded and slightly raised but healed skin of the scar that was carved not-so-neatly into her skin. Sweat had pooled in it's crevices and had dripped down her back. The ugly mark was there and it wasn't going anywhere.


End file.
